Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 8

There were two small excitements over the following couple of weeks. The first was that Tristan joined the Film Society (in place of the Gay-Straight Alliance) and he persuaded Colt to join too, in place of Nonnos's. Their first showing was Le Samourai, a French New Wave film of the 1960s. Colt was initially highly resistant to not only a film with subtitles, but also one that was in black-and-white. It's slowness did not suit the modern temper either and was in marked contrast to the action films which formed the bulk of the jocks' diet, but Tristan told him that it might help with his English class and Colton was content.

There they met Ben, a sophomore from his Greek class, and afterwards went for coffee with him and his girlfriend, Ivy. They discussed the film as the two smoked foreign cigarettes. Ben impressed Colt deeply with his sophistication. He was a Jew from New York City and his dress (all black and with round plastic glasses) and his urbane manner were quite foreign to this part of Texas. Ivy was a modish Chinese student, with short hair and an Elphin face. They made a stylish couple and were both studying Architecture. Tristan like them, being reminded of his mates at home and hoped they would become friends.

The second was that Colt had found another girlfriend, although he still exchanged emails with Yumi. This one was somewhat mysterious and Tristan never met her or even knew her name. It was just that Colt was absent for several nights and seemed preoccupied. Then it ceased. Leesha told him that he'd been seen in the town in the vicinity of his English professor's house and that he was surely screwing her. Tristan hoped that this brief romance would not affect Colton's results, particularly in the negative.

The football jocks' appearance at the Gay-Straight Alliance was a sensation that was well covered in the student newspaper. Colton, Hollis, Deshawn and Matt (a second string quarterback) were deputised to go. Rachel and Leesha were anxious for a dance night to be held as a mixer', and Colt said he was always happy to perform his moves', but the political aspects of dancing (leading and following being quaintly mentioned) quickly saw it end in naught. A substitute C & W night was also quashed, with the vegans opposed to anything that smacked of the exploitation of cattle with the gender binary nature of most the song lyrics offending the rest.

Tristan went for a coffee with Daryl to more fully rake over the meeting's proceedings, which they did amid great laughter. "There's a club in Dallas--in Oak Lawn--that I go to. Would you like to go up on Saturday? I know you have ID and I could be your DD on the way back, if you don't get lucky and dump my ass, that is."

Tristan missed the clubbing he did in London and very nearly said yes, but he didn't want any entanglements, so declined as diplomatically as possible and Daryl didn't seem to mind.

However, the most important event was the first football match of the season. Tristan's friends were greatly keyed up and all normal routines were suspended. Every conversation seemed to return to the topic of the next Saturday. The match was at the home stadium and Tristan found that he was sitting next to Dr Baddeley on one side and Colton's parents on the other. He could barely remember them from the dreadful first day and was acutely embarrassed by the fact. They, however, made no comment, if they were even aware.

Mrs Stone was a jovial and open-hearted woman in jeans and flat shoes and who clearly would be a good grade 5 & 6 teacher. She loved her family, which was evidently the centre of her world. Mr Stone ("Call me Drake") was a big man like Colt. Tristan wondered if he was of German origin--`Stein' perhaps being his original name, but he was one hundred percent Texan farmer, with that sceptical, close mouth demeanour and sparse utterances that had the quality of pearls of wisdom distilled from hard experience. What was alarming was that he was clearly not very well. Mrs Stone was continually solicitous of his health, frequently asking him if he were thirsty or hungry. Before eating snacks, Tristin saw him inject insulin.

Tristan admitted to Dr Baddeley and the Stones that, as a stranger in these parts, he knew nothing of football, merely remarking that Colton trained unbelievably hard and was already held in great respect.

"Always bin like that since a young'un" said Mr Stone.

"He talks a great deal 'bout y'all, Tristan, and says you're a good influence on him. I hope he's behavin' himself here in College," said Mrs Stone. "I suppose there's girls...you don't have to split on him, but I know what he's like."

"Always, has bin," added Colt's father with a chuckle.

Dr Baddeley heard this and exchanged a look with Tristan.

"I know how this game will go, Dr Baddeley," said Tristan, changing the subject.

"I thought you said you don't know a blame thing? You psychic, boy?"

"No, but I've read a lot of college football stories." Tristan omitted the full nature of these narratives. "We will win this one. Colt will work well with Hollis or maybe Deshawn and make the final goal."

"Touchdown, boy, you mean the winning touchdown."

"Yes, that's it, and this will be in spite of sabotage from within his own team. Hectch Gleeson will deliberately hurt him or spit in his eye or something but Colt won't think of himself and play through it--maybe even with an injury. The coaches won't see it of course."

"I am dreadful afraid of him injuring himself," said his mother. "He just throws himself in with no mind to danger. But I don't see how you can predict what y'all sayin'." This last was said in a different tone and Tristan was sorry he'd let his tongue run away with itself.

There was a great deal of razzmatazz with flags, bunting and a marching band and elaborate `cheers' were orchestrated by Rachel and Leesha. There were continual announcements from loudspeakers and it was difficult to hear the whistle. Sitting in the hot sun he felt he was getting a headache and took off his Texan hat in the team colours to mop his brow.

"Didya see that!" cried Dr Badderley at one point. Tristan had not been paying attention and could not have told you if it was the offensive or defensive team that was out. Tristan and the Stones looked, then stood. Colton was on the ground not moving. Some trainers came running on and, after a bit, lifted him onto a stretcher. Tristan was relieved when he saw some movement, even if it was only Colton clutching his side in pain. The other players on the sidelines knelt respectfully with their helmets under their arms. "Ribs," opined Dr Baddeley.

"Who did it?" asked Mr Stone. "Did you see?"

"Their outside receiver cleaned him up. He should have been protected, but that bastard just left him exposed when he stopped short. Number 35," said the doctor, "from our side, the dirty skunk."

Tristan didn't even have to be told, it was Hetch Gleeson.

The opposition began to gain ground without the controlling force of the starting quarterback and there was great tension in the stands. " 'pologise for m'cussin', Dr Baddeley, Tristan," said Mr Stone at one point. Dr Baddely just snorted and a moment later uttered an oath that was too coarse to repeat.

The gloom was lifted when Colton, apparently resurrected, trotted on again with the offence to a cheer from the home supporters.

"I'm confident," said Tristan.

His confidence initially seemed misplaced as the opposition continued to pull ahead, but then some brilliant plays from Colton brought the scores to nearly level. It was nail biting, but with just minutes to go Colton emerged with the ball and, while he would have almost certainly made a touchdown on his own, he lateralled the ball to Matt who walked the play to completion while Colton brought down not one but two defensive linemen who were hot on his tail.

As Tristan knew would happen; the crowd went wild and there was a special cheer for the home quarterback. "Dr Baddeley said: "Damn, Mr Isley, you've got second sight. I wish I'd had $100 on it."

"Oh I didn't know exactly how it would go," said Tristan airily, "just I thought...you know...a predictable pattern of these things."

"I hope my boy ain't too bust up," said Mr Stone.

"That boy's stacked like a Peterbilt truck, Mr Stone, take mor'in an elbow in the ribs to slow him none," said Dr Baddeley.

"We have a tradition here, Tristan," said Mrs Stone, "which you may not have in England. After the first game we have a tailgate."

"Oh, I know what that is. It's a picnic in the carpark. Everybody brings something homemade," said Tristan who had recently read about just such an event in a place called Amarillo in County Jail Waterboy.

And so it was, but without the complicated sex scene that featured in the on-line novel. The Stones had driven all the way from their farm and had put up at a rather dodgy motel on the parkway that led to the adjoining town of Sunset. Their truck had seen better days but the food spread out on a checked (or plaid) cloth was just as Tristan had expected except for one surprise: from a basket several bottles of red wine were produced. Tristan had been entirely ignorant of Texas as one of the largest wine producing states in the Union and the Stone family had, since 1995, planted some of their cattle land with vines, gradually increasing it to 15 acres. The wine was a Malbec, but Mr Stone said they were experimenting with other varieties, particularly those that were resistant to endemic diseases, and they sold some of their crop for the manufacture of sultanas. Tristan (after saying he was `legal') and Dr Baddeley were just toasting the success of the team when Colton himself arrived, fresh from the showers and grinning. There were congratulations all round and his parents beamed with pride. Colton kissed them both. Tristan could not remember kissing his own father since he was a little boy and the gesture seemed odd.

It soon became apparent that Colton's ribs were heavily strapped and his movement was impaired.

"Doc says nothin' broken, just bruising, and I should be right for next week if I only come out for light trainin'."

"How did it happen?" asked Tristan, probing.

"Don't rightly know. We were first and ten on our own ten-yard line and we need to get into range. The play was to short pass it back to me and then I would fire it long to Hollis on the right field line who would lateral it to Deshawn then... Anyway hurts like a bitch, though--sorry Mom."

"See me first thing tomorrer," said Dr Baddeley.

The game was thoroughly dissected as they chowed down on cold pie, sandwiches, fried chicken and potato salad. There was coffee from a Thermos jug and very girly cupcakes--apparently Mrs Stone's specialty. They sat around the truck on folding chairs and were joined from time to time by other team members and all their friends, everyone in the best of spirits. There was to be a party that night in the big meeting room off the locker room. Tristan was asked to go, but he insisted it was a night for Colton, the hero, and made some excuse about having work to do. Colton pressed him again, but he still demurred.

As they were packing up, Mrs Stone said: "Did Colt invite y'all to the farm for Thanksgivin'?"

"He did and I'm very much looking forward to coming. It is very good of you."

"Bless you, honey, it's a powerful shame that you can't be with y'own folks but we'd just love to have you. Colt talks about nothin' else." Tristan felt himself blush. "Of course we're just country folks and it won't be nothin' like what you're used to in England, I dare say."

"Well, I have no home in England now--or anywhere else for that matter."

"Yes, I'm sure sorry bout your Gramma passing. Colt told me how y'all had to rush off clean 'cross the ocean. Poor baby!" She gave him a hug and Tristan was instantly reminded of Colt's hugs. "Y'wrong in one respect, Tris." He looked at her, still captured in her embrace. "You do have a home," she said shaking him gently in time with each word. "Even if'n it's jus our old place. Y'all will always receive a welcome there."

"Well, thank you for that," said Tristan, realising how stiff he sounded in contrast to the warmth and informality of Colton's mother's sentiments. "Thank you very much and I will remember that." She squeezed tighter and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Colt returned at about two in the morning, but Tristan was only half asleep. He smelt of beer and then Tristan thought that his nose detected perfume.

"Get lucky?" he asked as Colt stripped off his tee-shirt, his shorts and then his boxers.

"Yeah, one of the cheerleaders underneath the bleachers."

"Oh. Won't want me to get you off then."

"No. M'ribs is too sore anyway."

Tristan looked at the bandages in the moonlight. They lay side by side for several minutes. "Your parents are nice."

"Yeah, thanks. Dad don't say much, but he's a real good person. Mom loves to flap her gums, but she loves us. She's actually real smart. She's been to college; Dad hasn't. Dacey and Mitchell have only been to Community College, so you can imagine how they felt when I got m'scholarship here."

"I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving weekend. I am curious to see where you come from."

"Yeah, only so y'all know to give it a miss."

"No, that's unfair," said Tristan, a little hurt. "I just want to see what sort of place produced a terrific dude like you."

"Huh! Don't make me laugh, rich boy, m'ribs is talkin' to me." There was silence for a bit. "Tris? You know it might just help me get to sleep if you know..."

"Jack you off?" said Tristan, crawling over to the other side of the bed.

"Well, your pouty lips..."

"I don't have pouty lips." Then, after a moment: "Ugh! You taste of cheerleader!"

"Now how would you know that, gay boy?"

The football season was if full swing. Tristan's contribution was to load Colt and Hollis up on carbs before the game--he cooked huge quantities of penne pasta on a small stove in the kitchenette on the girls' floor. This he mixed simply with a tomato sugo from a jar--doing his best to find one that was Italian. To his amusement, they universally referred to it as `pasta marinara', although it had not even nodding acquaintance with seafood, but he had already discovered this quirk of nomenclature on this side of the Atlantic.

The light training after the winning game was largely undone by Coach Gleeson who had Colton on the weights in the gym, but Colton, still bandaged up, was there on the bus for their away game against a college in Waco.

Tristan received texts from Deshawn during the afternoon. It was not good news. Colton had not played well and they were beaten. Colton returned, very dispirited. "That bastard, Hetch Gleenson deliberately targeted my ribs in the scrimmage when he thought no one was looking--he jabbed me in ribs and cussed me out. Hollis heard."

"It was Hetch that hung you out to dry a week ago. I should have told you. Doctor Baddeley saw it clearly from the stand. She had good eyesight."

"I had a feeling it was him, but I didn't say nothin' 'cause I weren't sure. It would look bad if I started to bitch about m'teammates."

"But you can't let him get away with it. Besides, without you, they can't win."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. Even with me on the field we seemed to do nothing right. Every play we tried was countered. They were jus' smarter than us and played harder."

The following week, the Friday before Thanksgiving, was a disaster. Colt's ribs proved to be cracked, not bruised, and this was confirmed by Dr Baddeley's second opinion. He was on the bench and tried to direct plays from the sidelines, with Matt as the substitute quarterback. As with the week before, this opposing team, Southern Baptist University, had the moves on the home team and the resulting defeat was of an even greater magnitude. There were mutterings in the stands about replacing the hapless Matt.

Leesha and Rachel cancelled the after party and instead a smaller group went for pizza and beer at Nonno's, but the group was rather down in both senses. Daryl and some of the Gay-Straight Alliance were also there and could be heard arguing on the other side of the room. He walked across to Tristan's group and talked to Leesha and Rachel about the proposed football clinic with the GSA students in the local high schools.

"How was the club?" asked Tristan at one point.

"Good, I hooked up with a hot dancer. I saw one of your footballers there."

"In a gay club?"

"Yeah, it's mostly gay. A few come just to dance."

Tristan said that it was none of his business and he didn't want to out anyone. Leesha and Rachel didn't see that at all. They had been eavesdropping and muscled their way onto the bench seat between Tristan and Daryl. "You should so go out with this guy," said Leesha.

"Shut up," said Tristan, crossly.

"Who is it?" Rachel demanded right in Daryl's face. "Who's the queer footballer?"

"I don't think I should divulge that. Like Tris said, it's a private matter."

"We need to know. We could use him as a role model for our project. Producing a gay footballer would earn us top grades."

"At great personal cost. He might not want his father to know."

"Oh my God!" cried Leesha, who was always quick on the uptake. "It's Hetch Gleeson, isn't it? His father is a coach right here."

Daryl's silence spoke volumes.

"He's a prick, but that has nothing to do with his being gay," said Tristan.

"His boyfriend was wearing a Southern Baptist U. tee-shirt. Looked like a footballer."

Tristan was in a great rush to get home and left Colton and the others ordering ice-cream. He seized his laptop and started searching. After half an hour he found what he was looking for and was just on the last paragraph of Going down on the Offensive Tackle when Colton came through the door. "You left in a hurry, " he began to say as he stripped down to his plaid boxers and took out his phone.

"I have the answer," Tristan beamed.

"Answer to what?"

"Why we're losing."

"Because we're shit. I'm shit."

"No, because you have a traitor in your midst. Just like in this story.

"One of your jerk off stories?"

"Erotic fiction, but yeah."

"Do tell."

"Well, in the story, the Asian freshman was forced to...no, I'll cut to the chase. Hetch Gleeson is not only trying to injure you to get his revenge or to get you off the team, but he is also giving away your plays to the other teams."

"Evidence?"

"Well, he was seen with a SBU footballer in a gay club in Dallas."

"You mean Hetch Gleeson's gay?"

"Very possibly."

"So, he just tells his boyfriend our game plan in pillow talk--or pillow biting talk in this case?"

"Or maybe just hands over the play book that the whole team uses--his one. Maybe gets his dad's, or maybe his dad is the traitor and is handing secrets over."

"Why would a coach do that?"

"I dunno. Gambling? Gambling debts? There is a lot of betting on college football."

"Seems a bit far-fetched."

"Agree. I've never read that the coach is the traitor. It is usually sex or blackmail relating to sex in the stories."

"You and your stories! But I agree, it does push it a bit." Colton's brow furrowed. "You know what would be more valuable than just an ordinary playbook? The quarterback's playbook. The coaches and me, we figure out our own plays and they also let me invent m'own. Did I ever tell y'all 'bout the one we used against the Rocksprings Tornados? It was pretty complicated, but if y'all follow me you'll see the brilliance..."

"Is it in your locker or is it electronic?"

"The team one is on a special dedicated tablet in m'locker, 'longside my own handwrote one."

"Would his dad have a master key?"

"Dunno."

"Well, I have a cunning plan..."

Of course it will be of no surprise that the purchase of a tiny camera mounted discretely inside the locker was the sum of Tristan's plan. Hollis, who was all for confronting Hetch in front of the whole team, was taken into their confidence and he helped set it up. They would wait until after Thanksgiving to see what results their trap would bring.

Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.